


magical mermaid lagoon surprise

by rubiesanddiamonds



Category: Homestuck
Genre: DJ Dave, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, also master mixologer, but if you squint its there, john is an asshole but a pranker one so its okay we suppose, not even johndave really, tz is trap queen and conquerer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubiesanddiamonds/pseuds/rubiesanddiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave takes a trip to the fruity side of life and john hoardes toilet paper</p>
            </blockquote>





	magical mermaid lagoon surprise

**Author's Note:**

> hi u cool donnys you sorry havent written in ages but big changes have been happening in life! still writing though, cos it still makes me happy and hopefully it makes you happy too :)

Feferi Piexes' house was enormous. You had heard stories of the huge decking and pool she trained in in the garden, the fabled working fountain she had _literally in the middle of her_ \- you don’t even know what to call the room. You want to go for ‘hall’ because it leads to all the other rooms on the bottom floor, with double sets of staircases on either side leading to the floor above; but your experiences with halls regard them as long and narrow. This is a wide, spacious room, big enough that you reckon you could probably fit the entire floorpan of your apartment in this room alone (if you removed the fountain, of course).

You’ve been more interested in exploring the house than setting up your gear. You’d gotten here early, as per her request, to connect your decks to the several amps and speakers she had had help dragging down from a room upstairs you're sure is a home cinema.

She'd seen you eyeing the place with wonder, and had promised to give you a proper tour when the jobs had been completed. She'd left, walking through the open sliding doors into their ‘garden’, though was the size of a community lot and had better facilities. A few of her friends were outside, setting out candles and tea lights to be lit when the sun went down. Fairy lights were strung from trees, wrapped around the rope of the barrier at the edge of her decking, and draped down the ivy plant that grew up the side of her fencing.

You aren’t really paying attention to your motions, using your fingers more than your eyes to determine which cable went where, far more interested in taking in your surroundings. There's a live wire and it shocks you slightly as you fumble to get it in the socket. You pay more attention after that.

—

Feferi hadn’t had time to give you a full tour, so you'd only got to see the ground; the first few guests arriving at the actual time she had told them to, apparently not knowing the rule that you had to be at least half an hour late to every party for reasons such as looking like you had other places to be or were just to swag to turn up at a set time.

More people had begun to trickle in after that, and before you knew it you were thrown to your station and the too-big house was full of tightly packed bodies and smoke, sweat heavy air. You were in your zone, faces around you blurring into nothing, colourful lights overtaking your vision. Hands and fingers moving before you knew you were doing so.

You weren’t a great DJ, but you weren’t bad. Years of messing around and mixing had given you deft reflexes, keeping your ears open had lead you to having a fairly wide and diverse taste, and your natural charm worked the crowd well enough. It was also pretty sweet to be getting paid for doing something you used to do for shits and giggles in your room.

You slide down the volume gradually, low enough to still be heard, but not so that it would overpower you when you spoke to the crowd.

‘Alright guys, gals, and everyone in between, as much as I hate to leave you like a slimy bastard in a suit who tells you all the right things the night before and does all the wrong things the next morning,’ the crowd putters at your metaphor and you're not really sure they understand you, but then again, they are drunk and probably don’t even understand what their friends next to them are saying, ‘I must.’ They see you take of your headphones, and register what's going on. Many from the front groan, a few from the back boo. ‘Aw, shucks guys, you make a guy blush. Don’t stress your pretty little heads, I'll leave you with some tunes and be back quicker than you can say, “goddamn it, I want to hire that motherfucker to play at my next party, wedding, funeral, bar or bat mitzvah, etc etc.” TG out.’ You tap at your laptop, set up to the left of you, running through a playlist that should keep the vibe going in your absence, and switch controls on the deck. The crowd cheers at the song choice, and you slide out unseen from your station.

You slip past and behind people, some you’re sure you know, some you are less sure, others your entirely sure you’ve never seen before in your life, beelining for the kitchen. There's a crowd around the island in the kitchen. Upon closer inspection, you find it is a group of hungry, most probably stoned, kids attacking the remains of a cheesecake with spoons and forks, shovelling as much as they could into their mouths before someone else got more. A few kids sit off around the edge at the small kitchen table, solo cups in front of them, a smoke in one of their hands. 

The kitchen is so big it allows for another group of people to be huddled by the fridge and sink, where the amateur mixers play at skill. You recognise a few of the group, and know at least two.

Despite being blind, the girl with the cocktail shaker in her hand stops her shaking when you approach, much to the disappointment of the few guys watching her hungrily.

‘Is that my puddin’?’ she asks, cackling, screwing up her face in your direction and lifting her red shades, as if to see clearer.

‘No, it's Batman,’ you say, and she manages to hit you in the shoulder for ‘not even doing the voice, jesus’.

‘What will the elusive cool kid have this evening?’ she asks. ‘What will be your poison of choice?’

You shrug, and you forget yourself and that while she’s ridiculously in tune with her surroundings, she can’t actually see the movement. ‘Surprise me, sweetheart. Give me some of your sweet sweet fruity rumpus party town elixir. Take me to the other side.’ The girl makes a mean drink, and her inventions are always usually drinkable.

Her wide mouth pulls into a grin thats equal parts adorable as it is terrifying. She cackles as she grabs an empty cup and begins picking up bottles, feeling their shape, and if they have braille, their name. She works quickly, picking up and putting down at a madman's pace, tipping into the cup and screwing lids and sniffing the contents. She scoops some crushed ice into a clean shaker at the sink, the one she had previously, left forgotten on the side.

She turns, covering her moments as she adds in different flavour juices, fruits, and the contents of the solo cup. You watch her movements and you are certain you catch her slight of hand. If you know Tz, you know she has just given you the secret to all her fruity asshole rumpus rainbow vomit parties.

She puts the lid on and turns around to shake, dancing along with the music as she does. She can’t see how ridiculous her movements are, or how her company's eyes follow her chest and ass. You want to say something, do something to them, they should have some respect for her; but Terezi doesn’t need saving and you know she likes the attention.

She transfers the contents to the cup she was using before, trying to empty the whole contents of the mixer. There's maybe a swig left, so she unscrews the lid, hands it to you and with a ‘cheers’, you down it.

She claps her hands. ‘I dub thee; Magical Mermaid Lagoon Surprise.’

You nod sagely. ‘I will treat her as though she is a fair maiden, blushing with virginity. Take my sweet sweet time, show her just how good it can get.’

She snorts, and her whole face pulls up with it. ‘If its with you, probably not very good.' You pull a face, not that she can see you, and waves you off. 'See you around, coolkid.’

You salute her and the rest, and walk off, sipping at your drink. It's got a weird lilac coloured film over the top, but is an aqua-ey teal sort of shade when you tip to drink. It tastes ridiculously sweet, yet you still get the aftertaste of powder and homeless man’s buttcrack. Knowing Tz, theres no way she _only_ put MD in the drink. You brace yourself for the adventure tonight’s going to end up being.

Your playlist is still running and no one has approached you about returning yet, so you think you can wait out until you drop before going back to your decks. You are weary of actually going down when your high hits, and you’d rather knock into someone than break expensive equipment. You wander the house, sipping your drink, near empty as you wait for the knot in your stomach to become unbearable and the clammy sweat of your hands and pits to break.

There's a few couples upstairs in rooms and the hall, kissing like they were the only people there. Someone had started making a pyramid of cups in the middle of them, laser focus in their eyes as they balance them, so you graciously donate your now empty cup to the cause. You open doors, not caring about privacy, closing them when you saw them occupied. One door is locked, and you itch to open it, but continue on to the next door, at the other end of the hall.

You don’t know when your walk turns into to a run but all of a sudden bubbles of excitement and adrenaline are dancing along your skin and your heart beats and it feels like its the first time its done that in a while. Your face relaxes and you feel weightless.

You pivot around, suddenly aware of where you are, and the hallway is still dark, and you are still being ignored by couples and pyramid kid. You open the door you intended to go in before, and it’s a bathroom, only its too big to be a bathroom, and they have a claw foot tub and a fucking statue of a naked lady, and a literal row of sink basins, like a public bathroom. There's a huge shower room with clouded glass that, when the door closes, makes a little room on its own.

You are so enamoured with this tiled room of wonder that you do not realise the guy crouched by the toilet, arms full of toilet roll. Your head snaps to him when he coughs.

‘Yo. You got bowel issues or stocking for the apocalypse?’

He looks bewildered, but laughs. ‘If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret.’

You are entirely intrigued, interest in the marble work and chandelier gone, and shoot over to drop next to him by the john. You would be grossed out, but the thing is so pristine and white and clean you could probably eat food off of it. It’s amazing.

The boy looks you in the eye and your soul raises out of your body, leaving your skin tingling and goose pimpled. His eyes, behind heavy frames, are big and soft and childish and so blue you don’t think any other shade will ever compare to the absoluteness of them.

‘Can I trust you?’ he asks, and your being is filled with whatever this stranger _is_ , because he can’t possibly be human, with such voice, eyes and smile.

You nod. ‘’Course bro. These lips are,’ you do the motion of zipping your lips and throwing away the key, ‘zipped. Mr Zuipperlips, you may say.’

‘Zipper lips, you mean.’

‘No, I most definitely meant zuipperlips,’ you reply and he frowns and his face is still the most perfect thing you have ever seen even with the three thick lines in his forehead the pulling of his eyebrows creates. ‘My mom says it,’ and he smiles and your heart jumps around in your chest and you think it may just be strong enough to knock you over.

‘That’s cute,’ he says. ‘Right, well, Mr Zuipperlips, you have stumbled upon me in an incriminating position. However, it shall not deter me!’ he pulls a silly, grinning face. ‘I am the king of not my house, and I’m upholding my title. Tonight, I am going to break _world history_.’ He speaks with such enthusiasm that you are now just as excited about the plan as he is.

Then, shit, you’re rising again and all the colours in the room, which aren’t a lot - greys and blacks and white, save the blue of the strangers eyes, are moving and swirling and -

Fuck Terezi.

You throw your head between your knees as quick as you can, recovery position to the rescue. You close your eyes and give yourself a second to let the wave of sickness pass, before opening your eyes again.

The stranger looks you in the eyes again and it feels like he is pulling you out from under a heavy current, slowly returning you to the surface. ‘Shit, dude, you okay?’ he sounds like he’s underwater and his blue blue eyes are growing in size, taking over his face, turning into the sea, your head just above the gentle waves. He isn’t harsh waters, he is soft waves on a warm beach, clear and crisp and gentle. He is clear skies on a warm day, gentle breeze to keep the heat bearable.

‘Yeah, bro, I’m so okay right now. Like, if there was anyone more okay than I am right now, I might have to notch them on up to the ‘content’ radar. Might even have to do that to myself, hot damn.’

He looks at you with a face that may be skeptism or confusion. The waves are making it quite hard for you to see his face. The water is so clear you can see him fine, but he’s all wavy and his mouth isn’t staying put.

Shit, you have a job to get back to.

‘Shit,’ you tell him. ‘I have a job to get back to.’

He does the same face he pulled when you first spoke to him, bewildered but amused.

‘You’re at a party. No one works at parties!’ You can hear the run of tone and volume in his voice, but they aren’t in sync with the movement of his mouth, which you are focused on intently. It's like you're waiting for your video online to buffer and the sound is a second out of time.

‘I do,’ you defend. ‘And so do you,’ you accuse. ‘Working to get that world record of hiding things and being a complete ass to the person who’s hosting.’

He snorts a laugh. ‘I guess I am. And being a master prankster, or anyone in comedy worth his salt, is all about tiptoeing the line of being a funny guy and a complete asshole.’

‘Well,’ you say, hoisting yourself up, using the porcelain throne that is the Piexes’ upstairs bathroom’s toilet as leverage. ‘In an effort _not_ to be an ass, I’m going to go give the good people of this white suburban neighbourhood and beyond what they want.’ You strike a pose, and stage whisper. ‘It’s me. I’m what they want.’

You exit to his laughter and as you walk you find your legs are not exactly cooperating with your brain. They drag in the water, up to your hips, and you think you may have to swim back downstairs.

The next thing you know you are in the kitchen again, and you are convinced teleportation is a thing that just occurred to your body.

You work your way through the crowd, swimming through bodies. The water, which has reached your shoulders, and was continually rising was easier to navigate than such huge crowds.

When you reach your station, a few kids at the front who notice start to cheer. Your ego is stroked and you give in easy smile. The water is above you now, but you can speak, you can do this. ‘Worry not children, for father is home, and he is going to tuck you in tight and rock you with his ill, ill beats.’ You switch of the playlist and decide to fuck the mood that’s been in the atmosphere for the majority of the night and _fucking drop it_.

The bass pounds, the drum runs, and the hook catches you like a dumbass fish in the flesh of your cheek and drags you to the surface on the water. You breath in a lungful of smoky, gross, body heated air like it was your first. The music is clearer, louder, and it is all that you can hear, all that you can think, all you can see.

The lights make your head spin in the best kind of way, seeming to move and flick and dance along with the beat. Your fingers are moving and scratching and sliding and pressing. Your body feels like it is part of the equipment, your fingers attached to the deck, your body directing the flow of electricity.

The crowd is going wild, jumping and moving and hollering and raving.

Your left hand leaves the deck and scrolls at your laptop and you tap the track and you don’t know how you knew it was the right one but you are at one with your music now and it doesn’t feel strange.

_this is what you came for_

—

It isn’t until the early hours of the morning that people start to leave, and you realise you haven’t left your station since before midnight. Your body is still high, electrified from becoming a part of the machinery. You switch on another playlist, quietening the mood as the party dwindles to a close. ‘Thank you everyone, you have been a most beautiful crowd on this wonderful night. Buy my fire mixtape on bandcamp and hire me for your next event, if you thought I was any good.’ The crowd laughs and cheers. ‘For the final time tonight, turntechGodhead is out.’

You leave your station to applause, and you can’t help but feel a bit pleased with yourself. You try to follow the same path you took when you left for your break earlier, hoping to get another drink, though preferably not spiked.

You’re stopped by a few of the people who had been on the dance floor and you hand them all business cards that you keep in your back pocket, not so much cards are they as little squares of printer paper with your tag, number and email. They congratulate you on a job well done and you thank them, in the most aloof way you can manage without sounding like you're rejecting the compliment. The woes of being a cool dude.

You finally reach the kitchen, and Tz is calling for a last round of drinks. A few hands go up and a couple of people give shouts from the other side of the room.

‘I’ll get whatever going, but if it’s more of what I had before I’ll have to pass,’ you tell her, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter next to her. The crowd that had been around her at the start of the night had dispersed, but you are sure the girls at the table hadn’t moved all night. They were in the same position, cups in front, smoke in hand.

‘No, that’s a one time only deal, and only for the coolest of coolkids there that night,’ she tells you, waggling her brows.

‘I am expecting an even better concoction next time round, then,’ you tell her and she flicks you.

‘What if your not the coolest kid there?’

‘Please. I am the coolest kid, anywhere. Is anyone else wearing shades inside?’ she raises her hand. ‘Who isn’t blind,’ you add.

‘Pft, you're as blind as me you photosensitive bitch,’ she teases.

‘I thought you were making drinks?’ you ask her, and she sticks her tongue out at you - it’s a strange teal colour and you know she’s been drinking her mermaid murder shit she made you as well - and goes back to mixing.

The high is waning, but you’re awake and alert and really not ready to call it a night. You’re about to ask Tz if she wants to go and chill with you at spot, or go wander aimlessly until the sun comes up, when out of the corner of your eyes there is a flash of blue, and you know what you are going to do with this excess energy.

‘I’ll catch you in a second, don’t move,’ you tell her quickly and slide off the counter, walking with what you hope isn’t an obvious speed to your step.

The blue you caught wasn’t right - too dark, too cold, too deep sea.

Light, clear sky blues assault you, sea green waves wet your feet, sapphire gems glitter in the chandelier light.

A slower song plays and you recognise it but you are sure it shouldn’t be on the playlist you set, but the reaction of the leftover partygoers is pleased - they pair up and sway and twirl and outside the fairy lights are on and you walk through the massive room you still find hard to call a room and the music is just as loud out here as it is inside and the place looks _magical_.

Soft candles flicker, dainty soft glowing from ivy leaves and bushes twinkle in and out of existence, the water of the pool lit up in fluorescent looking like it had been bathed in by fairies. The bridge of the song hits and a few peoples arms are waving in the air, lighters strewn up and blazing. Couples kiss as the song ends and the moment feels impossibly beautiful for all of a second, before the song changes and someone shoves someone else into the pool.

The blue isn’t out here, and if it was you know you wouldn’t be able to find it in the light. You turn back and return to Terezi in the kitchen, who is handing out drinks. There are two cups next to her, one with what looks to be whipped cream on the top, one with an overload of sparkles and colour.

You move them to resume sitting in your seat next to her, and see that one does in fact, have whipped cream on top, with a huge cherry slowly sinking into the centre. The other has a paper parasol with metallic confetti cannon remains draped over it, three different pieces of fruit wedged on the side of the cup, and an unlit sparkler shoved in the triangle of pineapple.

‘No drinking yet!’ she crows as you sit down, handing the last person waiting a drink. When she is done, she turns to you, lighter in hand, rolled smoke in the other. She puts the smoke to her lips, takes the whipped cream monstrosity with her now free hand, and lights the sparkler on your drink before going to light the smoke.

She inhales deeply, takes a swig of her drink, then exhales, smoke seeping out of her nostrils like a dragon.

She takes another quick pull and hands it to you, and by god if you don’t have to one up her because sometimes she really does edge on beating you in the cool olympics. You are Michael Phelps and she is the kid who beat him.

You do a flashy inhale, puling once, twice, three times, take a swig of your (yellow? orange? green?) drink, bite into the pineapple with the sparkler still on the other end, pinch your nose and push, willing the smoke to come out of your ears. You’d seen Dirk do it all of once.

You end up making yourself go lightheaded and let go of your nose, smoke quickly rushing out.

She laughs at your efforts as you discard the pineapple and sparkler, now at it’s end. You throw them both in the sink next to you, running the faucet over the flame. You take another draw, french inhale to show off, and blow the smoke back straight in her face.

You spend the next ten minutes fucking around like that, constantly trying to one up the other with cool smoking tricks. Tz’s O rings are far better than yours, you can only get them if you don’t double inhale (and that really just seems like a waste), and soon the smoke is gone.

The house is a lot more empty now, and you crack open a window, realising you probably should have done that before sparking up, but hey, not your house.

You are again reminded of blue and arms full of toilet roll and a mission to break records.

‘You up for an adventure when I’ve packed up, Tz?’ you ask her, and she grins.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

—

Feferi gives you the okay to start packing up a half hour later, along an envelope of cash, payment for your set and a little extra for being so great about it. You figure with a house like hers she can spare the extra fifty tip. Terezi tries to help you take your station down, but mostly gets tangled in wires and is more of a hinderance. You have instead assigned her to the important job of rolling.

You think it’s strange how she can roll up a well coned and tight smoke without being able to see it, but following her hands movements lead you to believe it is simply a task that requires hand memory rather than sight. You wonder if you could roll with your eyes closed. You vow to try.

You wrap the wires up around your arm, even sized loops every time, very meticulous. She lights the joint just as you finish packing everything away into large black cases. She passes it to you as you sit down and you take it, inhaling gratefully.

‘I’m gonna need a hand getting that shit into the van,’ you say around smoke.

There are still a few people outside, probably Feferi's closer friends, staying round to help with the clean up job the next morning. ‘Ask one of them to give you a hand,’ she answers, waving her hand to the group. None of them look particularly apt at carrying heavy equipment with the delicacy it requires.

You finish taking your draws and hand it back to her, getting back up and, not ready to embarrass yourself by trying to pick up the three cases at once, take them to the front door one at a time.

The fountain is bigger somehow, lighter and brighter. You stare at it, watching it rise and rise, before you hear a girl shriek and all of a sudden the fountain room is full and they are all seeing the growing fountain because it is.

Bubbles pile up higher and higher and overflow the basin, spilling onto the marble tiling of the floor.

You look for blue, because you know that asshole did this and he’s got to still be here because it was timed so perfectly. You are instead assaulted with bright red and teal, and Terezi hefts up the two biggest cases in either arm and leaves out the front. You follow her quickly with the other, eyes darting around for any sign of the stranger, using your free hand to search for your keys in your pocket and unlock the van.

‘Whiny pissbaby,’ she calls to you as she puts the cases in the back. ‘That wasn’t even hard.’

'Said every guy who has ever laid with you. It’s a curse, they just can’t get it up to your creepy cackle and shit eating grin.’

She laughs her creepy cackle and grins her shit eating grin. ‘I can give you a long list of people who have had and have boners for me, psycho tendencies aside. Where are we adventuring to?’ she asks.

‘I’m not sure,’ you tell her. ‘Not yet anyway. Give me five to scope the area.’

‘I’m going to go steal the last of the booze,’ she announces.

‘Meet me back here,’ you call to her as she walks off.

You walk around the front lot, a few cars parked on the gravel drive, garage in the far corner at the front of the house. There’s a patch of flowers in the centre of the semi circle drive, but nowhere to hide. You walk back to the front of the house, where everyone had gone back to the garden, in what you assume to be a group decision of ‘fuck it, we’ll do it tomorrow’. The bubbles are still growing, but not at the rate they were before. They cover a good extra meter from the edge of the fountain, but the don’t seem to be passing beyond that point. You walk around the hall, fountain room, whatever, looking for hiding spots for cheeky asshole pranksters.

You don’t even know his name, that really sucks.

You go to leave, check around the back garden, when the alarm of a car goes off, and, shit, that’s _your_ alarm. You run out of the house at lightening speed, you’re going to punch whatever motherfuck thinks they can touch your van and live to tell the tale. 

The driver side door of your van is open and you can see a figure sprinting away, down the drive and up the street, and you chase after him, but by the time you’re on the street the figure is gone.

You run back to you van, shove the keys in and cut the alarm. Nothing looks to be broken or moved, you inspect the back of the truck and everything is where you and Terezi left it. You lock up and get in the drivers seat, Tz returning quickly with her arms full of bottles and various levels of empty.

You turn the key and pull out, and it isn’t until you get on the road and check your speed that you see the little sticky note with the words ‘ectoBiologist’ on it in blue biro stuck to your dash.


End file.
